“Did I get a share in your father’s glory when he was sneaking in here of a night, and stealing all my cases?”
Lusa shrugged off the accusation.
“That’s different,” she said. “This could be dangerous. Under the circumstances, I think a small acknowledgement would be warranted if we all found the viscount together; agreed?”
Dwellings muttered something under his breath, then smiled rather falsely.
“I suppose so,” he snapped. “What did you have in mind? A plain old chorus of halleluiahs or twenty-two golden geese singing about heroes and long-toothed warriors?”
Lusa smiled sweetly.
“No,” she said. “Just a quick ‘the loftwing and his daughter helped’ would be nice.”
“Yes,” Obegarde added. “And maybe some talk of a joint practice?”
“WHAT?” Dwellings’ eyes bulged in his head. “You must be joking …”
“Why? We’d work well together; there’s you with your incredible mind, me with my strength, my speed and my daughter, and Wheredad with … with … with whatever he’s got.”
The words hung in the air for a few moments and then …
“We’ll see,” said Dwellings, shaking Obegarde roughly by the hand and wincing when the vampire almost crippled him.
Obegarde beamed at him.
“Actually,” he said, “I’m really glad you came back. It gives me a chance to show you this …”
He handed the ring to the detective.
“What is it?” said Dwellings, taking the ring and holding it up to the light.
“A ring with the royal seal on it; a hundred crowns says it’s Curfew’s.”
Dwellings nodded.
“Where did you find it?” he asked.
“The sewers,” said Obegarde, folding his arms over his chest. “The shapeshifter dropped his spoils en route from the palace wine cellar; he must’ve come back for it.”
“But the palace is supposed to be on full alert!”
“With those morons guarding it? Don’t make me laugh …”
Dwellings shook his head.
“But that doesn’t make sense!” he snapped. “Why would they kidnap Curfew and then come back for his ring …?”
“Assuming it’s the same lot, you mean?”
“Don’t be stupid; of course it is! Hmm … maybe I should go and speak to Secretary Spires, find out what Curfew uses the ring for.”
“But I thought you said we needed to leave as soon as possible?”
“Yes,” Dwellings admitted. “We do. I assume your daughter will be staying here?”
Lusa glared at him.
“You assume wrong, Mr. Dwellings.”
“But it might be dangerous!”
“And?”
“And … and —”
“AND I’d like to bring someone else,” Obegarde interrupted, capitalizing on Dwellings’ momentary shock. “Don’t worry; he’s very discreet.”
“Five crowns,” said Obegarde. He’d caught up with Jimmy Quickstint outside the Ferret and was trying, rather unsuccessfully, to recruit him for the tracking mission.
“Five crowns? To travel to Crust and back? Ha! Now I know you’re joking.”
“Fifteen.”
“That’s a bit of a jump, isn’t it? Don’t get excited, though: the answer’s still ‘Forget It.’”
“Twenty-five.”
“Don’t you understand the word ‘no’?”
“Thirty.”
“I don’t believe this,” said Jimmy, walking away from Obegarde with a half-smile on his face. “I really don’t. Why me?”
“Because I know I can trust you.”
Jimmy shook his head.
“Why can’t I stay here and protect her?”
“Because she’s determined to come with us!”
“Oh, for crying out loud.”
The gravedigger let out a heavy sigh, stopped walking and turned to face the vampire.
“You want me to follow you to donkey-knows-where just to watch out for your daughter?”
“Yes. Please.”
“But I’m no protection! You’ve said it yourself enough times; a strong breeze’d blow me over!”
Obegarde shrugged. “Even so.”
“Look, I’m just not int —”
“OK, a hundred crowns … but you bring me a weapon as well.”
“Er … done.”
They shook hands, somewhat reluctantly on Jimmy’s part.
“What sort of weapon are you after?” he inquired, squinting up at the vampire with an unrelenting smile on his face.
“Something small but devastating.”
“Right.”
“You can get hold of something like that?”
“Sure, it might cost you an extra twenty crowns or so, but I can get it, no problems.”
“Good. Can you meet me back here in, say, forty minutes?”
“Call it an hour … and I’ll bring your lethal weapon with me.”
“Great.”
Jimmy nodded.
“So who are the other members of this search party?” he asked. “And who or what are we lookin’ for, as if I need to ask?”
The vampire smiled, weakly.
“You ever heard of Enoch Dwellings?”
“Only when you mentioned him in the sewers.”
“Well, he’s leading the search with his assistant, Doctor Wheredad, and a tracker called Parsnip.”
“Parsnip?” Jimmy’s eyes lit up. “Parsnip Daily?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Gods damn it; that bloke owes me twenty-five crowns!”
“Oh, right.” Obegarde grinned. “We better not waste any time catching up with them, then.”
“I hear you,” said Jimmy, darting off down the street. Just wait in the Ferret! I’ll be back in no time!”
Five
“MR. ENOCH DWELLINGS, MASTER Secretary.”
The guard bowed low and departed, leaving a determined detective to stride openly to the scroll-cluttered desk that dominated the chamber.
“Mr. Spires …”
“Good news, I hope,” said the royal secretary, without looking up.
“Well, it might be; yes.”
Spires looked up suddenly, eyebrows rising.
“Really?”
“Yes, we’ve located a tracker who has managed to identify the cart tracks outside; we think he should be able to follow the tracks to their source.”
“How extraordinary …” said Spires, somewhat aghast, “And you’ve come to me because you require — what? Troops? Weaponry?”
“Neither, Master Secretary. What I would like to discover is the significance of this ring and its whereabouts in the palace when it was stolen …”
Spires immediately snatched the ring from the detective and, as he studied the item, his eyes bulged in his head and his mouth dropped open.
“Where — um — HOW did you get this? Do you have the other one?”
“There are two?”
“Yes! They were both accounted for after the viscount’s disappearance, but they were both missing from his lordship’s room this morning …”
Dwellings sighed.
“This one was dropped by a shapeshifter who was caught leaving the palace via the sewer system. Please don’t ask me how I came by it: saves me having to lie to you.”
“A shapeshifter?” the secretary gasped. “You mean half-man and half —”
“Snake, in this instance. Yes; a creature enchanted to morph from its original state into that of a human … and back again, as the need arises.”
Spires shuddered at the thought.
“Then the cursed wretch must’ve got away with the other one,” he said, turning the ring over and over in his fingers. “To answer your question, this is a Seal Ring: a ring used to identify the viscount should anything … unspeakable … happen to him. It is also used in the coronation of a new Lord; it is extremely magical and would be of absolutely no use to a shape
shifter.”
Dwellings frowned.
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Because,” Spires went on, slumping in his chair, “the Seal Ring is a ring enchanted to recognize bloodlines, and it can immediately identify its wearer. It would revert a shapeshifter back to its original form, and renders impostors naked in their treachery.”
“That’s incredible! Who made it?”
“Lord Morban’s sorcerer made them both, I believe; when the Tri-Age was still young. They’re … priceless.”
“Yes,” said Dwellings, concerned. “The kidnappers must have needed the rings very badly to come back for them.”
Spires nodded.
“Do hurry, Mr. Dwellings,” he urged. “I fear we haven’t much time before the viscount is lost to us … forever.”
“I hope you are wrong, Master Secretary. Good day to you …”
“Wait!”
Dwellings glanced over his shoulder.
“Sir?”
“Do you not require troops?”
“No, Master Secretary; I think it will only complicate matters if we go in mob-handed … and it will be double the waste if our tracker fails to find the viscount’s captors. Let us see what my small band can do on their own; then, if need be, I will come back to you for help.”
Spires nodded.
“You are a brave man, Enoch Dwellings. May the gods of Illmoor go with you!”
“Don’t wish that on me, please! I need help, not hindrance …”
Spires watched the detective march out of his office, then rang the small hand-bell on the edge of his desk.
A stout butler hurried inside.
“Can I assist you, Master Secretary?”
“Yes, Brilling; I want nine guards and eleven horses in the outer courtyard in one hour.”
“Are the extra horses to be riderless, Master Secretary?”
Spires shook his head.
“No, Brilling: one’s for me and the other is for the chairman of the city council. Now do move along, there’s a good chap.”
Six
“SO WHO ARE THEY?” Curfew asked again, his voice suddenly edged with desperation.
Innesell took a moment to respond.
“Well, they’re murderers,” he said. “That’s for sure; they killed everyone here: the innkeeper, the cook, and … um … the friend I was traveling with.”
Curfew noticed a distinct lack of sadness in the prisoner’s voice as he finished.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” Curfew called, wondering if the two men had actually liked each other. “Did you say they killed an innkeeper and a cook?”
“Yes; the two guys who ran the inn upstairs.”
“Upstairs? We’re in a tavern?”
“We’re underneath one.”
“Where is it, exactly?”
Innesell coughed a few times.
“On the road to Crust,” he said eventually. “Don’t you remember being brought down here? You struggled quite a bit, from what I heard …”
Curfew massaged his forehead, roughly.
“The last thing I remember was the assassin who came into my bedchamber,” he said, speaking into the hole. “He had the drop on me, yet he seemed almost surprised when I fought back, which was odd …”
“Maybe he thought you were asleep?”
“Maybe. Anyway, I took up my sword, and rallied as best I could against the fiend, but he was …”
“Better? Stronger?”
“Hmm … faster, certainly. There was a lot of blood — his and mine — but I don’t think he was the one who knocked me out in the end. There was an interruption, I recall, and others came into the room. Not guards; I think it was the cleaners I saw in the corridor outside. I thought they would help me, but they didn’t: instead they all piled in, raining blows. It was a grim night: usually I’d have been prepared for an attack — I have to be on guard against such things, you see — but on this night there was a bad thunderstorm, and I was wearing earplugs. Ha! If only I’d heard them approaching, I could probably have taken them out.”
Innesell waited for the viscount to finish. Then he whispered:
“I’m guessing they were all wearing earplugs.”
“Oh? Why would you say that?”
“Because they took a Jenacle banshee with them.”
“A what?”
“A Jenacle banshee; a tiny, wailing ghoul. They’ve been breeding it for months. It was here, in the dungeon, before they kidnapped you.”
“Really? You saw it?”
“I heard it wail; that was enough. They say its death cry can put a man to sleep in half a second, and hearing it makes your ears bleed.”
Curfew drew in a breath.
“Hmm … So who’s in charge here, d’you think?”
“I don’t know,” said the voice of Innesell. “I haven’t actually met the leader …
“D’you think there is one?”
“Oh, definitely. I’ve heard them talking about him; a pretty nasty character by all accounts.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Curfew, carefully. “He could be the one I fought.”
Innesell’s voice cut in quickly.
“No,” he said. “The one you described sounds like the one they call Rhark; he’s a master of blades and steel … claims to be the greatest swordsman in Illmoor, which undoubtedly he is.”
Curfew nodded to himself.
“Yes,” he agreed. “That would certainly explain the skill. How many others are there?”
“Three that I know of,” said Innesell, his voice becoming shaky. “Two shapeshifters and a man they call Kneath, who pretends to be the innkeeper.”
“Shapeshifters?” Curfew repeated. “Really?”
“Yeah, I think one’s a lion; the other is definitely a snake.”
Curfew started; a terrible thought had suddenly occurred to him.
“Innesell,” he called, softly. “Why are you telling me all this?”
His answer was an incredible eruption of mocking laughter, which rang out through the dungeon and echoed all around the room.
“Innesell indeed,” the voice cackled. “Exactly how gullible are you?”
Despite the shock, Viscount Curfew fought to remain calm.
“Gullible enough, it would seem,” he muttered.
“But no fool,” added the voice. “And certainly no slouch with a sword — you’re the first man to give me a cut in more than fifteen years! Still, I’m sure that it’s my master that you are dying to meet. Fret not, Lord Curfew, for that time has come …”
There was a moment of silence, followed by an approach of footsteps from the corridor outside.
A torch struck up, the door was unlatched and a number of shadowy figures lurched into the cell. At length they parted to reveal a tall, hooded stranger, who strode toward the viscount with a terrible sense of purpose, cracking his jaw as he walked.
Curfew pulled himself onto his feet.
“Who ARE you?” he demanded.
“If you’ll permit me, my lord,” said a familiar voice, “I’ll show you.”
The hood was drawn back and Curfew stared at the face behind it, a face he was not expecting to see but nevertheless recognized immediately.
After all, he saw it every morning … in the mirror.
Seven
WHEN ENOCH DWELLINGS ARRIVED at the city gates, leading a solid-looking horse behind his own princely mount, Wheredad was standing alone.
“Where’s Daily?” the detective inquired.
“He’s gone on ahead,” said Wheredad, rolling his eyes. “Said to catch him up. Did you manage to find us some help, Enoch?”
“Yes,” Dwellings replied, avoiding the man’s eyes. “I’ve asked the vampire to come along; just this once, you understand.”
“Yes, Enoch: I think I understand. Is his daughter coming?”
“That’s got absolutely nothing to do with it!”
“I never said it had!”
“You implied it!�
��
“I didn’t, Enoch! It’s all in your own head.”
Dwellings felt his teeth begin to grit, and tried to calm himself by thinking happy thoughts; unfortunately, these all involved the vampire’s daughter, so he quickly knocked that idea on the head.
“Just listen to yourself, will you?” he snapped instead. “We need to keep our minds on the task ahead.”
“My mind IS on the task ahead,” Wheredad protested. “It’s your mind I’m concerned abo —”
“Shut up! I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
He made a face and pointed to the second horse, which Wheredad then made several half-hearted attempts to mount. Eventually, the lumbering assistant managed the feat, and together the two men urged their steeds into a reluctant trot.
“Aren’t we going to wait for Obegarde?” Wheredad hazarded.
Dwellings shook his head.
“We follow Daily; Obegarde follows us: it’s quite simple, my friend. Now let’s move, shall we? He can’t be more than a few minutes ahead of us …”
The detective dug in his heels and his horse rocketed out of the palace gates. Wheredad attempted to follow suit, and almost lost his head in the process.
“This,” said Obegarde, staring blankly at the small creature that Jimmy had deposited squarely on his palm, “is a hamster.”
The atmosphere in the Rotting Ferret had put the vampire in a bleak mood, but it could no way prepare him for the sight of Jimmy’s promised weapon.
“Hey, that’s not just any hamster,” the gravedigger protested. “That’s Kyn Blistering’s own special, personal, favorite hamster from his legendary collection of death-dealers.”
“Yes, but it’s a hamster, Jimmy.”
“And?”
“AND? AND! I asked for a ballistic weapon of major proportions, and you give me some eight-year-old’s pet rodent.”
“You don’t understand —”
“No, you don’t understand: I need a heavy-duty crossbow, not a bloody straw-eater.”
“But, listen, it’s KYN BLISTERI—”
“I don’t care whose damn hamster it is! I don’t care if it’s the personal, magical pet of Hop Along Flong, the hamster-wielding lord of the lizardmen, it’s still a wriggly little furball AND NOT a sawn-off scimitar.”
Jimmy waited patiently for the vampire to finish his rant, then smiled, in spite of the glare coming from the other end of the table.
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